Tabitha gathered her things and stepped out of the office but stopped and turned when her boss cleared her throat.
“I’m counting on you to not fuck this up.” The gruff delivery made Tabitha flinch. “I need you here, Handcock. Help me show these board of director muckity mucks exactly why.”
Chapter three
Sunday, Leavenworth: Zac
“That’sitforyourexcursion. Remember to grab your water bottles, bags, and shirts—I’m talking to you specifically, Margret—as you exit the vehicle. It’s been an absolute pleasure, ladies, and I hope to see you all back here again soon.”
Zac held open the van’s sliding door as six exhausted but happy middle-aged women filed out with dirt-smudged faces and skinned-up knees. Each one high-fived their guide and complimented the outing in some form or fashion.
“What about the gear?” one woman wearing nothing but very see-through leggings and an overflowing sports bra asked. She took a swig of a water bottle, droplets of water dribbling down her chin and into her strategically hoisted cleavage.
Zac felt his lips tug into a sly grin but refused to take the bait and maintained eye contact instead. “You let me worry about the gear, Margret.”
“I told you to call me Maggi,” she purred, handing over a few folded-up bills.
“My apologies,Maggi. Thank you for this.” He took the tip, slipped the money into his pocket, then retreated to pull open the back of the van and begin unloading.
“I really appreciate you helping me with tying my knots.” She followed him and snagged a few harnesses. “And helping me when it was too tight for me to loosen on my own.”
“Don’t mention it,” he assured her with a chuckle.
“I like that you know your way around a rope—”
“Hey, Mags. What’s the holdup?” one of the women hollered as the group piled into a large, blue SUV. Maggi swatted her hand in the group’s direction as though scolding the interrupting woman and turned back to Zac.
“Big plans for this evening?” she practically purred.
“I’m sure I’ll find some form of trouble or another.” Zac slipped his arm through the harnesses she held and shrugged them onto his shoulder. He turned to head toward the rear entrance of Off the Beaten Adventures but stopped and winked. “Or it’ll find me. Goodnight, Maggi.”
He rounded the corner and hurried into the back door, giving a sigh of relief that he’d evaded another of the woman’s advances. The group had been great. New to the sport, and excited to give climbing a try. The only trouble was Maggi had her sights set on him from the jump and was relentless in her advances.
And nine months ago, Zac would have been into it. He would have set up a time to meet Maggi for a drink or three, culminating in a night of naked fun in her hotel room. But that was before making an ass of himself at his best friend, Jonathan’s, wedding. Before hitting on Jonathan’s little sister so vulgarly that he was surprised he’d left the celebration with two functioning testicles.
Or with his friendships still intact.
But Zac was a different man.
He wastryingto be a different man.
It’s not like he’d taken a vow of celibacy or anything. After all, it was hard to shut down the ingrained charm. Women flocked to him, and while it was challenging to say no to the buffet, surely an occasional taste was allowed.
Never a customer, though.
He’d mixed business with pleasure too many times, and if he had any hope of being taken seriously by Jonathan—who also happened to be Zac’s boss—he needed to cut the crap and act like a professional.
Zac grabbed the cash from his back pocket and spied a scrap of paper peeking out from the middle. Scrawled in bubbly handwriting was Maggi’s name and phone number. He hesitated at the pinch of temptation before crumpling the note and tossing it into the trash. Backtracking was not an option. He added the cash to his wallet and finished with the gear.
With everything in its place and the inventory sheets adjusted, Zac followed the voices coming from the front of the building. He crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder against the doorway to watch the lovers’ spat unfolding in the main lobby.
“Husband?” a syrupy sweet voice lilted across the room, hinting at the barely contained agitation lurking beneath.
“Yes, dear?” Jonathan grunted from where he stood across the lobby countertop, glaring intently at his wife, Lucy.
“Will you quit staring at me?” She wiped her sticky fingers on a paper napkin, which she tossed onto the growing heap beside her takeout container. “You’re giving me heartburn.”
“You sure it’s not the dozen blazing hot wings you just ate?” he retorted, wiping away the sympathy sweat from his brow.
